Salaville closed his hands around Vauvert’s throat and squeezed.
His eyes were fixed. Glowing.
It was the same look of glittering hatred, Vauvert realized, that the wolf had given him.
Then he focused on his compressed throat. Already black spots were consuming his vision. He knew what it meant. He had about thirty seconds to free himself. After that, he would lose consciousness.
It was way more time than he needed.
He threw a punch into Salaville’s gut. His fist sank deep into the mass of fat. The man shut his eyes in pain. Then he reopened them. His look was feverish, vicious. His smile broadened as he tightened his grip on the inspector’s throat.
Then Vauvert opened his arms and slammed them against his opponent’s elbows. He felt the joints crack, and the pressure on his throat ended.
The black spots went away.
The man tried to retreat.
Vauvert was not going to let him get off that easily.
His fist crashed against Salaville’s face. The cartilage in his nose snapped.
Vauvert threw another blow to his gut, bending him double.
One last uppercut sent two of his teeth flying.
Salaville staggered.
“You can’t stop nothing, you know.”
Vauvert stared at him, his face blank.
“Stop what? Your brother?”
Salaville gave him a ferocious look. He leaned forward, and Vauvert understood he was about to lunge.
Vauvert drove his fist into Salaville’s face. More teeth flew. Salaville was hurled backward, over a rock.
The obese man stumbled, slipped on wet ferns and fell over.
Vauvert rushed forward.
The ditch behind the rock was no more than three feet deep. The short fall would not have done any harm if Roman Salaville had not landed on the deadly sharp end of a tree limb. It had torn through him like a stake. Blood poured from Salaville’s chest, where the tree limb protruded.
“Oh shit!” Vauvert exclaimed, jumping off the rock and into the ditch.
He tore off his shirt and pressed it against the man’s wound. But the crimson flow was unstoppable.
The man, even in this condition, just stared at him with wild, beastly eyes that burned.
“Roman? Can you hear me? Don’t fall asleep. Don’t do that, you bastard.”
Salaville opened his mouth.
“Oh, someone ain’t gonna be happy about this.”
Then his jaw slackened, and his chest stopped rising and falling. The blood flow slowed.
“Shit, stay with me,” Vauvert kept saying, slapping him. “Shit, shit, no!”
The eyes held their gaze. It was over.
Someone ain’t gonna be happy about this.
Who was he talking about? Who wasn’t going to be pleased?
His brother?
When he had asked, the fat man seemed amused.
Vauvert rose to his feet. He surveyed the trees around him.
He wondered where the wolf had gone.
10
“You can’t do nothing against us, bitch!” Claude Salaville shouted from the top of the stairs.
His victim was terrified, her eyes wide with panic. The knife, a trickle of blood running down the blade, was at her throat.
“Let her go,” Eva said, venturing a foot on the first step.
Salaville pulled his hostage tighter. In a smooth, almost caressing motion, he ran the blade back and forth against the girl’s throat.
Eva froze, attentive.
The man took this for some sort of indecision and snickered.
“So tender,” he said. “All honey and spice, a little one like this. You pull something, and I bleed her like a hog.”
The inspector climbed another step. Then one more. She continued, calmly, methodically.
“Stop it right now, Salaville.”
She did not raise her voice. Her tone was even.
“Or else what? Huh? What you gonna do?”
Eva reached the top of the stairs.
“Back off!” the man yelled.
“Don’t do anything stupid. It’s all over. You’re not getting away.”
“You think so? You and your partner, you can’t shoot me.”
“You’re wrong about that,” she said.
Salaville’s eyes bore into hers. Black eyes, two icy pits. And the air around the man seemed suddenly impenetrable.
Eva’s hand was trembling, but she was not going to let the jerk throw her off her game.
“What do we do now?”
“Oh, it’s real simple,” he answered. “You go back downstairs. You get the fuck out of my way. You let me get to my car.”
Eva grinned.
“Hear that, Salaville?”
Outside, officers were kicking in doors, barking orders, and securing the perimeter.
“Hear that?” Eva asked again, her voice falsely soft. “That’s the Homicide Unit. They’ll be in here any second. You don’t surrender, you lose your life.”
“So you think.”
Eva aimed her gun.
“I can very well put a bullet in that degenerate brain of yours, and you’ll be dead before you can even think about slitting her throat. You want to take the risk?”
“What risk? We’ve got to face death if we want to defeat it, right?”
The guy had a cold smile, as though he had just made a private joke.
Eva did not say anything. With her left hand, she slowly removed her glasses.
The man shivered for the first time as he caught sight of her blood-red eyes. His hostage sobbed, not daring to move. The knife was still gnawing at her throat.
“You’re calling me a degenerate?” Claude Salaville croaked. “When’s the last time you took a fucking look at yourself?”
“To catch a monster, it sometimes takes a monster,” the investigator answered.
In the darkness, a flash of doubt crossed Salaville’s eyes. But he pulled himself together.
“You’re bluffing, lady cop. I tell you what we’re gonna do. You’re gonna let me go. I’m gonna get in my car and leave.”
Eva did not budge.
“You let go of the girl first.”
The man grinned again.
“Hey sweetie, what do you think? You think you can scare me with that zombie face of yours? You think you’re in a movie or something? You think that chicks like you shoot guys like me?”
Eva said nothing.
“Do you?”
“You’re right.”
The guy burst into laughter.
“You see!”
“Yes,” the inspector with red eyes said. “I see perfectly.”
She pulled the trigger.
The shot rang out. The bullet lodged in Salaville’s collarbone and knocked him backward. He let go of the girl, who threw herself to the ground with a shriek of terror. In disbelief, he looked at the inspector and raised the blade in her direction.
The woman fired a second time. That bullet pierced his hand, sending the knife into the air.
The third bullet found its way through his right eye, splattering the back of his head onto the wall.
The man fell to his knees. His blood arced and spurt onto the carpet and the girl, who lay curled up.
The inspector fired twice more before Claude Salaville collapsed and stopped moving for good.
11
In less than twenty minutes, two additional units had arrived, and some thirty homicide officers fanned across the farm. Floodlights were pointed at every nook and cranny as the officers secured one room after another. Even so, Eloise Lombard had not let go of Inspector Svarta. She clung to her, mute and motionless. The inspector had asked for some clothes, which the girl put on slowly, in a kind of altered state. Then both of them had walked out of the house, away from the swarming police, away from the horror and the stench, and they sat in the back of a van, nestled together, waiting for the psychologist to come.
Finally, she arrived. The psychologist was a chubby woman with a round face and big caring eyes. She crouched in front of Eloise and spoke in a gentle voice. It had little effect, though. The girl refused to let go of her savior. Eva had to walk her to the psychologist’s car. Eloise still had not uttered a word.